


A Casket of Mismatched Jewels: or Five Things That Never Happened in Tolkien’s Middle-earth

by AirgiodSLV



Series: A Casket of Mismatched Jewels [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-04
Updated: 2004-11-04
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: For Dee, especially. Thanks to Brenda for the beta, and to Brenna for trying.Content/Warnings:  AU, character death, violence, het sex.





	A Casket of Mismatched Jewels: or Five Things That Never Happened in Tolkien’s Middle-earth

**Author's Note:**

> For Dee, especially. Thanks to Brenda for the beta, and to Brenna for trying.
> 
> Content/Warnings: AU, character death, violence, het sex.

_I._

“There are none left, m’lord,” Dominic says respectfully, tugging his cap as he rushes to catch up, Viggo’s strides covering the ground in little time. “She’s taken them all.”

Dirty, smoke-smudged faces stare up at him blankly, the shock too great for most of them to understand, to realize what Viggo’s presence here means. He picks out each one of them with his eyes, keen gaze looking _in_ and _through_ , but there’s no spark in them. Dominic was right, as were the guards who met him at the gate with the news.

Another point for Miranda, if they’re keeping score. Viggo hears her laughter in his mind, sees windswept hair and summer-sky eyes. She’s cleaned out this group as well. How much power has she gathered to herself, how many young gifted ones? He shudders to think of them, kept locked in her secret hiding place, on the other side of a mirror with no reflection.

And not one left, not a single person with the fire in them that could undo the damage, to stand against her and turn back the hourglass. Viggo has lost it, like the rest of the trained mages. There’s an innocence required in the provision of freedom, and he’s long since misplaced it, traded it for spells and books and the knowledge that mages call wisdom.

“There are none left,” Dominic repeats sadly, and Viggo turns away with his heart turning to ashes. Too late, again. Maybe for the last time. There aren’t any more major steadings that have held out, and Miranda has combed through the outlying villages and countryside with the razor-honed vision of an adept.

Movement catches his eye, someone breaking free of the stones that make up the keep, and he glances over briefly. It’s a young man, just emerging from adolescence and the awkwardness of boyhood, with pale skin shining through where rock-dust and blood haven’t darkened it. Blue eyes flash up to meet his, challenging and overly brave to hide the fear, and Viggo’s mage-trained senses lurch.

There’s no recognition in the young man’s gaze, but the power in him swirls up to fill his eyes, bright and steady. It’s another full second before Viggo can breathe again. Dominic hovers behind him, apprehensive and uncertain, and Viggo speaks to him without looking away from those ensnaring eyes.

“Except for one.”

 

_II._

Hannah gasps, rocking forward slightly to feel Dom’s cock inside her, working her muscles in arrhythmic, shifting ripples that have Dom alternately swearing and begging. He’s almost over the edge now, and she’s almost ready for him to be.

“Oh, Hannah, Hannah…”

She smiles, raising her hips, and then impales herself so abruptly that he cries out, strangled and shocked, as she speeds up. Her hands lift the bound weight of her hair, feeling it slip like silk through her fingers, a few strands at a time, and then she lets it cascade down her back, the heavy silver hairpin coming loose in her hand as she releases the tresses.

“Nothing like your brother,” he gasps, his hands hot on her hips, not even trying to guide her movements anymore. It’s enough for him just to hold on and let her ride.

As it should be. She feels the first flutter of her climax and pulls him with her, milking him with all the efficiency of a farm-bred serving maid, and he bellows like a bull when he comes. Her hairpin takes him through the heart with deadly accuracy just as he shoots himself deep within her, and then her climax is on her, rolling over her body like waves breaking on the sand.

She finishes after an endless, pleasure-filled eternity, and comes back to herself to see his shocked face staring up at her, surprised by death the way he had never been surprised in life; the man who used everyone just because he knew how.

The change begins with the last shuddering of her orgasm, and by the time the final aftershock spears her, it’s complete.

“You’re a fool,” Elijah says quietly, climbing off of Dom’s sweaty, cooling body and shaking out his limbs, getting used to the feel of transformed yet familiar flesh. “I’m everything like my brother.”

 

_III._

Orlando should have been surprised, when the man – _Viggo,_ the locals had whispered, _he’s called Viggo_ – stepped from the sandstone cave to wait for him, nothing betraying him beyond the shimmer of his skin in the sunlight and the solemn glide of his steps. But Orlando wasn’t, somehow…it seemed almost right for them to meet like this; beneath the sun, under the open sky.

“So you’re the one,” a low, gravelly voice stated. “The self-styled dragon hunter.”

_The beat of a wing, a heart. The rush of wind._

Orlando felt the voice vibrate in his very bones, the purr in the inflection making him awestruck and hungry at the same time. But not afraid; never that. “Yes,” he answered evenly, barely managing to hide the excitement in his voice, the sheer delight in his repressed smile. “I’m the one.”

Viggo’s gaze swept over him, a summation of his life, perhaps even a prediction of his death. “What makes you think that you can find them, _hunter?_ ” His accent on the word was deliberate, and almost mocking. Orlando didn’t care, joy bubbling up to shine from his eyes, flashing in the grin that he could no longer hide.

_The iridescent glimmer of sunlight flashing on scales, a flash of sabre-sharp teeth._

Orlando took the steps between them slowly, marking the wariness in jewel-toned eyes, seeing an understanding so ancient that it humbled him to see it. “It doesn’t matter,” he explained, kneeling at the dragon’s feet and just barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch what he’d been waiting to behold for so long.

“I found you.”

 

_IV._

“Elijah’s wings are crooked!” Orlando crows, and Elijah bats him away with an annoyed frown, his butterfly-gauze azure wings beating nervously for a few seconds before calming.

Orlando doesn’t leave, so Elijah turns and sits facing him, wings closed defensively together. “They are not,” he argues crossly, flicking a sunflower seed into Orlando’s face and resolutely sticking a handful into his mouth, crunching a warning that he doesn’t feel like being messed with today.

Orlando looks ready to dispute the point, but luckily Dominic comes to the rescue, pulling himself over the edge of Elijah’s sanctuary and hitting the floor with a thump. His monarch-patterned wings snap together sharply to avoid any damage that their owner might accidentally cause, no doubt used to taking unpredicted tumbles.

“Leave him alone, mate,” Dominic urges lazily, dusting himself off carelessly. “It’s not worth it.” His wings flicker warily before spreading, black and orange eclipsing a tousled halo of wheat-blond hair.

Orlando opens his mouth, then closes it and shrugs, getting to his feet. Dragonfly-sharp, vivid emerald unfolds behind him, and he departs with an affronted hiss of wind skating off the delicate membranes. Elijah spits the seeds after him in bad-tempered retribution.

Dominic saunters over to deposit himself in Elijah’s lap, arranging them both so that their legs don’t get stuck at an awkward angle. “Grumpy this morning?” he asks, and Elijah shakes his head, not ready to look into Dominic’s eyes and reveal the lie.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Dominic murmurs soothingly, and soft-rough hands slide over Elijah’s skin, arousing and causing his wings to flutter delicately, the streaks of blue darkening a shade as Dominic leans in to bump their noses together and breathe gently on his face. Elijah looks up, and his wings slowly part, the difference in size clearly on display.

Dominic smiles, and his wings beat the air behind him, blowing a soft summer breeze across Elijah’s skin. “I think they’re beautiful,” he says, and leans in for a kiss.

 

_V._

The first time that Peter realized he might have a problem was when one of the Lothlorien torches in the WETA workshop spontaneously ignited, frightening one of the young tech assistants and nearly scorching the edge of a nearby Elven cloak. Orlando looked properly abashed, and promised with a vehemence bordering on pleading that it would never happen again. Peter contacted the appropriate elemental office to have Orlando registered as soon as possible, and continued the shoot.  
  
When Billy whipped the Weathertop rehearsal into a frenzy after getting a bit too deep into character, Peter started counting the days until a professional could be flown in from Australia to keep the new Talents under control. It wasn’t their fault, he knew that. Discovering an elemental affinity was a trying time for everyone, especially the one who was suddenly faced with random manifestations of their power.

Orlando and Billy commiserated and kept an eye out for each other, and when Orlando accidentally lit things on fire, Billy could generally be counted on to blow them out. Rehearsals proceeded without further incident, and everyone was more or less happy.

When Elijah’s talent manifested, it wasn’t a surprise; he had been registered with the water elementals’ guild in L.A. and the appropriate information was listed on his resume. But he’d had to leave for New Zealand before his training could commence, so Peter had known there might be a bit of upset there. What he hadn’t counted on was how quickly Orlando and Elijah would take to each other, and the sheer scope of the damage that could be caused when two untrained elementals with directly opposing affinities decided that they wanted to rip each other’s clothes off.

Once the fires had been put out and the floors mopped dry, Peter retreated into his makeshift office with Ian McKellen, the only member of his principal cast who was also a practicing affinity and a member of the British Air Elementals Guild.

Ian didn’t mince words. “Peter,” he said politely, “You have four young, newly discovered, opposing Talents on this set. You’re going to need a professional with them at all times, and I only have the ability to deal with one element. You’re going to need a Master. Someone who can handle all of them at once.”

“Four?” Peter asked, raising his head from his desk and blinking. “What do you…?” He stopped as the trickle of water alerted him to something out of the ordinary. They had all gotten used to it, now that Elijah’s hormones had kicked into full gear. More often than not, and particularly when Orlando was around, vigilance averted a minor crisis before one occurred.

Mud swirled down the dirt track between trailers to pool at the entrance to Peter’s tent, earth and water rolling first apart and then together as it thickened. Peter eyed it suspiciously before looking back at Ian. “Now what?” he snapped, throwing his hands despairingly into the air.

“Unless I am greatly mistaken,” Ian opined with great amusement, “Dominic Monaghan just figured out why he’s so drawn to Elijah Wood.”

Peter blinked; dropped his head back into his hands and directed his muffled words of surrender to the surface of his desk. “Call Viggo.”


End file.
